The last day of this year is forecast to max out at 38°C.
I learnt this more than 24 hours ago, and even though I've waited very patiently, the forecast isn't changing. At all. I was kind of hoping, this being Melbourne, that it would.
You would think that I would be spending the day immersed in water. Or squarely ensconced in air conditioning. Or at the very least in my bathtub, touching no one and nothing.
Instead, I'll be in my car. My black car. Because I'm clever like that.
We kept the railway tracks because they were historic.
We put the light-post in between them purely and simply to f#ck with your brain.
» of eBooks »
Sometimes, I admit I indulge in a spot of ego-Googling. And lucky I do, because otherwise I would be blissfully unaware that Shadow Bound is already available in eBook format. Look! And over there!
There are actually quite a few links, too many for me to try collecting them, so it's best by far to simply google. But for all of those wanting to know when Shadow Bound is out in electronic format, the answer is … um, now?
» of Stock for Sale »
And while I'm at it, I have some copies of Shadow Queen and Shadow Bound left over from the launch of the latter, and I've finally gotten around to putting up a webpage detailing how someone who might want a paper copy of my book for somewhat less than you'd pay through an Australian book store might be able to buy them directly from me.
If that sounds like you, the stock for sale page has the details you want.1
» of the Mythical Third Book »
I've been getting a flattering trickle of emails, lately, asking about a third book in The Binding series.
Deb, these emails ask, Deb, is there a third book? Carn, Deb. Write me another. ZOMG YOU'RE NOT ENDING IT LIKE THAT ARE YOU?
Now, I will admit that I ended Shadow Queen rather cruelly. I hereby publicly confess that what I did in SQ was set everything up … and tie nothing off. In Shadow Bound I was not QUITE so cruel, in that there is tying up of major plot threads, but there is also that most beloved (to me) of endings, the open ending.
Originally, I wasn't planning on writing beyond that ending. Not because there was not enough story to justify anything further (in fact it's quite the opposite!), but more because that's simply as far ahead as I'd planned. But lately I've found myself wondering just what plays out after that closing line of Shadow Bound …
So I've been entertaining (i.e. tormenting and frustrating myself and those around me) with unanswerable questions in an attempt to dig some more of Matilde's story out of my brain. If I can come up with something workable, I'll be submitting a proposal on it. Which may or may not find favour with those who have the power and resources to publish these things.
So while I still can't make any promises, let's just say the mythical Third Book, while still a cryptozoo, may one day be dragged, kicking and screaming, into existence.
» of Something Completely Different »
This has absolutely nothing to do with The Binding books, I just think it's unutterably cool: boa constrictors born by virgin birth.
Before I moved to Melbourne, I'd never lived without at least one family pet. My knowledge of the various critters starts with two Siamese cats — Bubbles and Cuddles — who, if they weren't in the house when I was born, were acquired not too long after. My mother tells stories of one of them (I forget which one) having a worrying love of pouncing on my baby brother's bald head.1
Over the years following there have been cats2, dogs, canaries, budgerigars, fish, a horse, rabbits (both normal and pygmy), and even a tortoise at one point. Although we found the latter laboriously crossing the road in front of the house one day, put him in the backyard, and lost him under the back fence one day — so I'm not sure we can claim ever owning him so much as we fed him while he (very, very slowly) passed through.
Down this way, a variety of circumstances have meant no pets.
Or at least, that's what I thought. As it turns out, care of that most hypnotic of time-sinks otherwise known as TV, I've recently discovered that in fact I have a multitude of pets.
They're popularly called water bears or moss piglets (which is not one but two awesome names), their scientific name means "slow walker" (which makes me think of something out of Star Wars), and they can survive the vacuum of space.
That, my friends, is one heck of a combination of cute and hardcore, right there.
and look! are they not fatly adorable?
Of course, since they're so teensy, I don't actually know how many of them I have in my sink. But that doesn't matter. I'm going to call them all Chewbacca.
I came across this display on my walk in to work this morning.
A little further down the street was a slew of cars with their back windscreen wipers lifted. I'm guessing someone had a hijinky kinda night.
The other day, on learning that I write and have a couple of published books to my name, a new acquaintance asked me, "How do you fit it all in?"
Here's the thing: I don't. I really don't.
My flat hasn't seen more than a cursory clean in months; the only reason it's survived such neglect is because I'm not there for more than a few hours at a time to create any serious detritus. My kitchen sink is permanently full of dishes. My friends are always prodding me with a gentle reminder that it's been more than a couple of days since I last saw them, it's been weeks. (Thank all that's sacred that I have patient, understanding, forgiving friends.) On a good day I'm running on an hour less sleep than I need. I barely cook, because it takes too long for too little gain, and my grocery expeditions consist of little more than ensuring I have sufficient milk and bread to keep from starving.
Pretty glamorous, eh?
When I indulge in social activities, sleep and wordcount drop by the wayside. When the dayjob floods me with applications, sleep and wordcount drop by the wayside. When I take the time to get the sleep I need to function like a normal human being, friends and wordcount drop by the wayside. When I take the time to truly write, friends and work drop by the wayside.
Most of the time, if I'm ultra-organised, and skimp a bit each on my friends and my sleep (and a lot on my housework), I can balance everything. Sorta. Kinda.
Sometimes, life throws me a hefty curve-ball. And when my routine gets ripped out from under me — which has been pretty much a constant feature of 2010 — it takes a lot to regain my balance.